by Sue Margolis
Ruby went to fetch Hannah’s triple buggy from the storeroom. When she got back, Chanel was cradling Alfie and blowing raspberries on his cheek. When sick trickled down his chin, she produced a clean tissue from her trouser pocket and gently wiped it away. “That’s better, isn’t it? We don’t want to send you home smelling of sick, do we?” She turned to Hannah. “Look, why doesn’t Ruby show you ’ow to put up the buggy while I look after Alfie.”
Hannah nodded. Chanel carried him across the shop and stopped next to a crib mobile. She turned the dial and it began to tinkle “Brahms Lullaby.”
“THESE TRIPLE BUGGIES are real contraptions, I’m afraid,” Ruby said, cutting away the plastic covering with scissors. “But I’m sure you’ll soon get the hang of it.”
“I’m sure I will.” Hannah’s exhausted expression reminded Ruby of Fi when Connor was refusing to sleep.
“So, it must be really hard going with three little ones.”
“To be quite honest, it’s a total nightmare. My mum’s brilliant, but she lives in Leeds with my stepfather and doesn’t get down too often. When she goes home, it’s just me. No dad to help out, I’m afraid. I’m a single parent.” She must have seen the quizzical look on Ruby’s face. “I got pregnant with the twins while I was at university. I decided I could just about cope with a baby and carry on studying. The scan didn’t pick up that it was twins until I was five months gone. I was in shock for about a month afterward. I love them to bits now they’re here, but I had to give up uni. It hasn’t been easy.”
“I don’t know how you do it.”
“That’s what my mum says.”
“Listen,” Ruby said, “do you fancy a cup of tea? I was just about to put the kettle on.”
“I would absolutely love a cup of tea,” she said.
Ruby told Chanel to shout if a customer came in, then she disappeared into the kitchen. When she emerged carrying a tray of tea, Chanel was still playing with Alfie. Hannah seemed happy to leave them to it while she sat flicking through an old copy of Hello!, which had been lying on the counter. Ruby had just put the tray down when she became aware that Hannah had stopped turning the pages and was sitting staring at one particular picture. A full five seconds must have passed and she didn’t move.
“You OK?” Ruby said eventually.
Hannah jumped. “Yes. Fine…Actually, forget the tea. I really should get going.” With that she got up, took Alfie from Chanel and without stopping to put him in his harness, almost ran out of the shop.
“But, but…you’ve forgotten the stroller,” Ruby called after her, but she was gone.
“What was that about?” Ruby said to Chanel.
“God knows. Seems totally crazy if you ask me.”
Ruby said she didn’t think that Hannah was mad, just exhausted. She picked up the copy of Hello! It was still open at the page Hannah had been reading. There was a picture of a grief-stricken Claudia Planchette leaving St. Luke’s after losing her baby. Ruby slid the magazine toward Chanel. “It was an appalling thing to have happened, but I wonder why it upset Hannah so much.”
“Dunno. Maybe she knows her.”
Ruby said it seemed unlikely.
THAT NIGHT, RUBY had dinner with Sam and he told her that now he was staying on at St. Luke’s, he had been given a new office. “It’s huge and it’s on the fifth floor with views over Holland Park.”
She said she’d love to see it.
“OK. I have some papers to pick up from the hospital. Maybe we could go after we’ve eaten.” No sooner had Ruby agreed to the plan when her mobile trilled. It was Phil to say Aunty Sylvia had turned up in floods of tears. “Your mother’s at yoga, then she’s going out with some of her girlfriends for something to eat. Sylvia’s in a real state. I wouldn’t normally ask, but you couldn’t come over, could you?”
“Dad, it’s a bit difficult. I’m in a restaurant having dinner with Sam and then he wants me to see his new office.”
“What is it?” Sam whispered.
“Hang on, Dad.” Ruby put her hand over the phone and explained to Sam about Aunty Sylvia.
“Look, we’ve almost finished eating,” Sam said. “You go. You can see the office anytime.”
“You absolutely sure?”
“Positive.”
Ruby dropped Sam home, and then drove on to her parents’ house. When she arrived, Aunty Sylvia was sitting on the sofa sobbing. Her eyes were red and swollen. “I’ll make some more tea,” Phil said, sounding flustered and clearly preferring to leave Ruby to deal with Aunty Sylvia.
“Aunty Sylvia, what on earth’s the matter?”
She sniffed and then reached into her handbag. “These. These are the matter.”
She was holding up a pair of women’s knickers. “I found them in Nigel’s underwear drawer.”
“But why were you looking through his drawers?”
“He’s away for a couple of weeks on business and I was watering his plants.”
“And you thought you’d hunt for evidence that he was seeing another woman.”
Aunty Sylvia dabbed her eyes and nodded. “And I found it.” More loud sobbing.
Ruby put her arm round her aunt. “Well, whoever he’s been seeing certainly doesn’t go in for sexy underwear,” Ruby said, relieving Aunty Sylvia of the flesh-colored Bridget Jones–style big knickers. “And she’s not exactly petite. Look at the label. Size eighteen.”
“I know. She’s even fatter than me. How could he be seeing somebody so fat and sexless? I don’t get it.”
Ruby asked if she had managed to speak to him.
“I phoned him and he’s adamant he hasn’t been seeing anybody. He says he can explain the pants and it isn’t what I think. What does he take me for, a complete idiot? Why are men such cowards? He’s clearly cheating on me. Why hasn’t he got the balls just to come out and say so?”
Ruby took a long deep breath. “Who knows?” When Aunty Sylvia started weeping again, Ruby sat holding her and rocking her back and forth. Phil hovered and generally looked out of place and awkward. By the time Ronnie arrived home just after eleven, he must have made half a dozen cups of tea.
“Good God,” Ronnie said when she saw the state Aunty Sylvia was in, “what on earth’s going on?”
By way of explanation, Aunty Sylvia held up the knickers again. Ruby described how Sylvia had come by them and what she suspected.
“Oh, Sylvia. I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve this.” She turned to Ruby. “All right, sweetie, you go home. You’ve done brilliantly. I can take over now.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
Ruby kissed Aunty Sylvia good-bye and said she would phone to check on her in the morning.
“This man is a total, utter and complete bastard,” Ronnie snarled as she sat down and hugged her sister. Ruby couldn’t help observing that for once her mother wasn’t trying to analyze the situation, she was just reacting, which was precisely what Aunty Sylvia needed.
RUBY LAY IN bed thinking about what a piece of work Nigel really was. How dare he treat Aunty Sylvia like this? It was odd because he’d come across as such a decent bloke. Admittedly he could bore on rather, and then there were his eyebrows. Aunty Sylvia had insisted they were natural, but they hadn’t looked natural to Ruby. As she gazed up at the shadows dancing on the bedroom ceiling, an idea—and an unsavory one at that—started to take shape in her mind. Effeminate eyebrows. A drawer full of big knickers. No. Surely not. He couldn’t be. Could he? Poor old Aunty Sylvia. Then again, she’d read that loads of apparently normal heterosexual men were; and man-wise, Aunty Sylvia was always up for a project. She was the first to admit that Nigel was a bit lacking in this department. Having said that, Nigel might turn out to be a project too far.
THE NEXT MORNING, half an hour before opening, Hannah turned up at the shop with Alfie. She tapped on the door, and Chanel went to open it.
“I’m so sorry about running out yesterday,” she said as Chanel invited her in. “It was
so rude of me. I got rather upset, that’s all.”
“Don’t worry,” Chanel said. She began stroking Alfie’s head. “Mornin’, poppet.” They went over to the counter where Ruby was standing.
“Your stroller’s all ready,” Ruby said brightly. “I’ll get it.”
“No, wait. I’d like to say sorry to you, too.”
“Forget it.” Ruby smiled. “You’re a single mum. You’ve just had a baby. Your hormones are all over the place and you just got a bit stressed, that’s all.”
“I wish I could stop it, but it keeps happening. The thing is, I’m not coping very well with Alfie. Trying to look after three children under three on my own isn’t easy. Sometimes I get so tired and emotional that I feel like I’m falling apart.” Hannah ran her fingers through her hair.
“Come on, let me take Alfie,” Chanel said gently. “You sit down.”
Hannah eased a wriggling Alfie from his sling and handed him to Chanel.
“It was also the picture of Claudia Planchette that upset you, wasn’t it?” Ruby said. The girl gave a “maybe” shrug.
“It was so awful, her losing her baby,” Ruby went on.
Hannah didn’t say anything, but her expression had changed suddenly. It was clear that she was anxious to say something.
“What is it?” Ruby said gently.
“No, it’s nothing.”
But it was obvious that it wasn’t “nothing.” “Come on,” Ruby urged, “you might find it helps to talk.”
Hannah rubbed her hand across her forehead. “I need to tell somebody. My mum knows, but not being able to talk about it to anybody else is driving me mad.”
“Not being able to talk about what?” Ruby asked.
“OK…” Hannah paused and inhaled deeply. “What would you say if I told you that Claudia Planchette never lost her baby?”
“Of course she lost it,” Ruby said. “I’m going out with a doctor who works at St. Luke’s. I know for a fact that she lost her baby.”
“I’m telling you she didn’t. After Claudia gave birth to Avocado, she was petrified that a second pregnancy would ruin her figure, so I carried her baby instead.”
“You’re saying that she used you as a surrogate?”
“Yes.”
Chanel shot Ruby a look as if to say “the woman is totally bonkers.”
“I’m not mad,” Hannah said, picking up on Chanel’s expression. “And I’m not lying, either. OK, I was a fool to get involved in the first place, but the money I was being offered was going to allow me to move into a bigger flat, go back to university and finish my English degree.”
“Go on,” Ruby said, intrigued now.
“It all happened so fast. The mother of a friend of mine is a midwife at St. Luke’s. She knew how hard up I was and she asked me if I was interested in earning some really big money. Usually surrogates only get paid enough to cover their expenses. She was talking tens of thousands, so long as I signed an agreement not to speak to the press.”
“So, who was the father?” Ruby asked. “The newspapers said it was some French movie star, but she was refusing to name him so that he could grieve in private.”
“There was no movie star. That was just gossip. Claudia hasn’t had a relationship since her divorce. She had her eggs fertilized by an anonymous donor—a Mensa member, I think. Apparently he has a thing about spreading his seed for the benefit of humanity.”
“But the embryos weren’t implanted in her?”
“That’s right. They were implanted in me. There were three. Two died early on. I carried the remaining baby while she wore a series of body suits and convinced the world she was pregnant.”
“Good God,” Ruby muttered. She shot a look at Chanel as if to say: “See, I told you I was right. That day in the fitting room, she was wearing a body suit.”
“Claudia’s not the only star hiring surrogates. I know for a fact that Mia Ferrari and China Katz used them. There are bound to be others. It’s all about vanity. Can you believe these women are so scared of putting on weight during pregnancy that they are actually hiring other women to carry their babies?”
“Bloody ’ell,” Chanel gasped. “So that’s ’ow they keep their figures. They never lose them in the first place.” Alfie started to whimper. She put him over her shoulder, shushed him and began gently rubbing his back.
Ruby was leaning on the counter, trying to take in what Hannah had just told her.
“I know my story sounds absurd and I don’t really expect you to believe me, but it is the truth. I promise.”
“Yes, I know it is,” Ruby said. She began telling Hannah about the day Claudia came into the shop to buy a maternity swimsuit. “Ever since, I’ve been trying to convince myself I was seeing things.”
“You weren’t seeing things,” Hannah said.
Ruby was still shaking her head in disbelief. “So, these stars leave St. Luke’s, apparently having just given birth. They pose for the paparazzi in their skimpy little jeans, smug as you like with their perfect babies and perfectly flat postpregnancy stomachs and tell the world it’s all down to sensible eating and good genes. The upshot is that they make every new mother on the planet feel gross and hideously inadequate for having put on a few pounds. And all the time, they weren’t even pregnant. Even by Hollywood standards, it’s beyond belief.”
Chanel hadn’t said anything for a few minutes. “So,” she said to Hannah. “If you carried Claudia’s baby and it didn’t die, Alfie must be…”
“…Claudia’s baby. That’s right.”
“So why is he with you?”
“That’s the really twisted part. Alfie was born by emergency cesarean. There he was, this tiny, two-month premature scrap lying in an incubator and Claudia decided she didn’t want him.”
“What? She didn’t want her own baby? You’re saying she rejected this precious little mite? Why?”
“He has a deformity.”
Chanel frowned. “What deformity? He doesn’t ’ave a deformity. You can see he’s totally perfect.”
“No he isn’t. He has ginger hair. She didn’t want her baby because he has ginger hair.”
“Oh, come on,” Ruby shot back. “That I don’t believe. There has to be more to it.”
“Nope. Claudia hates ginger hair. She finds it repulsive. It seems there was some mix-up over the coloring of the sperm donor. She was led to believe he had dark brown hair. In fact his hair was ginger.”
“But I thought it was only the British who had hangups about ginger hair,” Ruby said. “I didn’t realize Americans disliked it, too.”
“I’m fairly sure they’re less than keen on it,” Hannah replied. “It’s just that they don’t make jokes about it like we do. Think about it, though. When did you last see a ginger-haired man take the romantic lead in a Hollywood film? It’s not sexy. The last thing Claudia wanted was a son who would grow up to be unsexy.”
Ruby said she got the point.
“Anyway,” Hannah continued, “Claudia came into my room shortly after I had Alfie, took one look at him, threw an almighty hissy fit and left. Hollywood stars like Claudia think of themselves as royalty. They demand total perfection.”
“But this wasn’t a designer dress with a wobbly hem,” Ruby said. “It was a baby. Her baby. Her flesh and blood.”
“I know, but as far as she was concerned, Alfie wasn’t real. He was just another lifestyle accessory—one that didn’t meet the required standard. Her parting words were: ‘I’ll pay you to keep him. Anything you want. Name it.’ She paid me half what I was owed for the surrogacy, but I’ve seen nothing since Alfie was born.”
“But I saw you had all that cash,” Ruby blurted before she could stop herself. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. That was so rude of me. Your money is none of my business.”
Hannah smiled. “It’s OK. It came from my uncle. He’s ancient and doesn’t trust banks. He isn’t rich by any means, but he keeps what money he has stashed down sofas and under mattresses. He adores Alfie an
d insisted I buy him a few really special things. I’d never even heard of Les Sprogs, but I just happened to be passing, so I came in.”
Ruby went over to Alfie, who was now fast asleep on Chanel’s shoulder. She began stroking his cheek. “It’s beyond insane. How can anybody reject their own flesh and blood because they have the ‘wrong’ color hair? I have to say that when I met her she seemed a bit emotionally unstable, but to do something as wicked and cruel as this…The woman has to be completely, seriously ill. No wonder her ex is fighting her for custody of Avocado.”
“I didn’t know that,” Hannah said. Ruby picked up a copy of the Daily Mail and showed it to her. The headline read: “Planchette Unfit Mother—ex-husband claims.”
Hannah shook her head. “She is an unfit mother. I’ve got no doubts about that. It’s why I didn’t go to court to force her to take Alfie. What kind of a life would he have had with her? And if she had still refused to take him, he would have ended up in foster care. I couldn’t do that to him.”
Ruby let out a long breath. “But why would St. Luke’s put its reputation at risk to get involved with something like this? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“You can never underestimate people’s greed,” Hannah said. “Even doctors in private practice can be dazzled by dollar signs. And we all know how underpaid midwives are.” To her instant shame, it occurred to Ruby—albeit for no more than a second or two—that Sam might be involved. It would certainly explain all the secrecy and phone calls.
“And of course,” Ruby added, purging her appalling thought about Sam from her mind, “what they’re doing isn’t actually illegal. It just stinks morally.”
“So,” Chanel chipped in, “the too-posh-to-push brigade ’as gone a stage further. Now they’re ‘too-fabulous-to-fertilize.’”
“Absolutely,” Hannah said with a bitter laugh.
She explained that from what she could work out, the hospital acted as the agent for Hollywood stars looking for women to carry their babies. They charged tens of thousands to find surrogates, arranged for them to be artificially inseminated and supervised the pregnancy and birth. “Not that anybody will ever prove what’s going on. These people are very clever. They’ve got every angle covered. The insemination doesn’t happen on the hospital premises. They will have gone to huge lengths to make sure all payments look legitimate.”